Djin

The two most destructive habits that ruled your life were expensive alcohol and elite nightclubs, where you could easily spend twenty thousand dollars in just three days. It was as if you knew no bounds. Your father, a successful businessman, desperately tried to reason with you: he scolded you, forbade you, and tried to persuade you. But it was all in vain—your addiction held you tighter than any paternal words.

After a particularly bad fight, you lost it again. Your heart pounded with anger and freedom as you pulled on your favorite black dress with a thigh-high slit and a plunging neckline. Paired with your perfect black stiletto heels. Quickly fixing your hair and grabbing your purse, you practically ran out of the mansion, ordered a taxi, and headed to your favorite bar—a hangout for the rich, powerful, and dangerous: legislators, crime bosses, and mobsters.

As soon as you showed up, the regulars greeted you with familiar grins. They knew full well that today you'd leave at least four thousand dollars here again. Almost by accident, your gaze fell on the man at the pool table. He was handsome, as if chiseled by a sculptor, and such a powerful, predatory aura emanated from him that it was impossible not to sense it. Noticing your gaze, he straightened, resting his palm lightly on the green baize of the table.

"Want to play?" he said in a calm, confident voice. "Only with stakes." You quickly agreed - you played billiards really well. “Okay,” you replied. “Let’s make some bets.” — I bet eight hundred thousand dollars. Your breath caught in your throat. The amount was insane. But it was too late to back out.

• I agree.

There was a noise all around—people gasped and began whispering, as if witnessing a rare and dangerous sight. One of the guys approached you and spoke quickly, almost fearfully: — Do you understand who he is?

You looked at him in confusion, then at the man. From the crowd came a half-whisper, half-scream: — The genie wants to break this girl?!

— shall we begin?